


Doors, Walls, Window

by kscribbles



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Dubious Consent, F/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Sex Pollen, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 18:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18708010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: Drug or no drug, she could be forgiven for wanting to tear his damned suit off.





	Doors, Walls, Window

**Author's Note:**

> A while back, it came up in discussion that with all the common fic tropes I wrote back in the day, I'd never attempted "sex pollen" because... problematic? So, challenge accepted, i suppose. Obviously, please be warned, dubcon because of the nature of the trope. Many thanks to [platypus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kite/pseuds/platypus) for giving this the twice-over.

It was cliché, but when you were travelling with the Doctor, you sort of had to expect the unexpected. When your first “date” with a bloke was watching your own planet explode, and almost getting roasted yourself, you sort of get to thinking your other firsts with him might end up sort of different as well. Sometimes that led to amazing experiences. Sometimes the very opposite. And like their first trip had been, occasionally, a bit of both. 

Their adventure on the island planet of Florentus started reasonably enough. He’d brought her to see the planet’s claim to fame, a single, multicoloured, 4-storey-high flower that bloomed once a decade, and smelled of fresh-baked bread. And then they found themselves in the middle of a scuffle between rival groups that claimed exclusive access to the flower, and she and the Doctor sorted it right out. Sometimes an outsider’s perspective was just the thing.

And the celebration of peace afterward started just like the loads she’d been to before as well. Dozens of people sat at at long tables in forest clearing, not far from the village. The locals dressed in bright colors, both the women and men with flowers in their hair, which she’d learned was what differentiated evening wear from day dress. She’d slipped a bloom in her hair as well. Everyone talking and laughing, music, and some dancing. No kids around, though, she noticed, though the sun was only just starting to set. 

Heaps of gorgeous food were laid out, in all the colours of the rainbow. Some of the food looked familiar and some she wasn’t entirely sure even was food at all (she’d made the decor-or-food mistake once or twice), but the Doctor had assured her it was all perfectly safe. Including the bubbly in her glass, which was a delicate shade of purple, but tasted almost exactly like good Earth champagne. 

She sipped from her glass and picked among the delicious finger foods nearest to her spot at the long table next to the Doctor, while he chatted to the bloke on his other side about their trade economy. She’d stopped being surprised at what topics could be fascinating to him. Nothing was off the list.

Oh, she saw the Florentians even had the berries she’d fallen in love with on Rubus V, which the Doctor told her was a neighbouring planet. They were a turquoise blue, firm like a strawberry, and sweeter and juicier than the best summer blackberry. She should see if they could get some later to bring back to the TARDIS, which was parked somewhere through the dense forest.

She was pleased to discover the berries were just as luscious on this planet. When she let out a small inadvertent moan in appreciation, the Doctor’s head shot round to her and he looked at her with wide eyes. He set down his champagne glass with a thump.

“Wha'?” she asked, washing the berry down with a sip of the bubbly. 

“Uh…” He held a finger up for a hush, his brow furrowed like he was analysing something, and licked his lips. She followed the motion, which seemed to take longer than it should have done. “Oh!” he said, when he apparently concluded his analysis, and suddenly he swiped at her glass, trying to knock it from her hand, but she held fast to it. 

“I... might have been wrong,” he said slowly.

“Don’t drink the drink then?”

“Please don’t.” 

“Why?” she asked. She should probably be alarmed, but she felt only relaxed and happy.

He let out a loud breath, and ran a hand through his hair, distractedly. Which distracted _her_. It always looked great, but was it the weird setting sunlight in this place that made it look particularly amazing today?

“I’m sorry. It seems I was wrong about the safety. Oi!—” He swung back around to ask something of the man who had been next to him, but that man’s back was turned, deep in intimate conversation with the woman he’d been sat next to. The Doctor let out a noise of frustration and turned to face her again, continuing. “There are compounds in that drink,” he said, pointing to the glass still in her hand, “that didn’t immediately register as harmful. Because they’re not, really. Not physically. But it would seem they collectively affect… mental faculties.”

“What,” she asked, “like alcohol?” She’d assumed it was at least a little alcoholic. That, she’d found, was pretty much a universal constant at celebrations.

“No, not like. Well yes, actually. A bit. But no. I suspect the concoction has a similar, though apparently much stronger, effect on muting inhibitions, on… amplifying certain existing… em…” He seemed to force himself to trail off, his eyes, she thought, imploring her to understand. But she wasn’t quite following. 

“I don’t feel any different.” Did she? Maybe a little. Like, was his mouth always so mesmerising? Why couldn’t she look away? She managed it, just. “How do you know, anyway?”

“Well, I can’t stop thinking about your cunt.”

She dropped her glass. It landed on the dirt below them with a soft thud and slosh. She nodded slowly, beginning to understand, but what the hell was she supposed to say to that? She was concerned with why; maybe she should be _more_ concerned, but her whole body was flushing with heat. 

He went on, like it was just usual babble, but there was nothing usual about this; she knew that now. He seemed to know too, but that didn’t stop his mouth running. “And it’s not that I don’t often think about it. You, that way. I do. All the time. The things I want to do to you. You’re beautiful, and really very sexy. And obviously, I want you. I’m dying to… taste you. But usually, I can distract myself. And I can’t just now. And I’d certainly not usually _tell_ you that I was thinking, quite vividly, about fucking you. And I have. Sorry. So you see? Bit of a problem. And we should probably go.” 

They should. This definitely was a problem, and they needed to sort it. “But,” she found herself saying, “it might be rude to leave.” Which was a stupid excuse. She really didn’t care about being rude just now. She wanted to stay, to hear more about what he was thinking. 

He clenched his teeth. She saw his dimple quiver, the one that appeared when he was angry or exasperated. Or… desperate? “Roooose…” he said on a whine. He was begging or warning, she wasn’t sure. “Don’t you—” He sighed. “Don’t you _feel_ it?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. She _always_ wanted him. Sometimes it was very hard to think of anything else. Was now any different? Drug or no drug, she could be forgiven for wanting to tear his damned tight suit off. “But look,” she said, glancing down along the long table at all the other guests, many of whom were… coupling off, some moving off out of the clearing in pairs, some dancers getting downright indecent, some people already snogging right at the table, “the others…”

“Yes, I noticed. All of this, it seems it’s part of their celebrations. I don’t care about them. I mean, of course I do, and I’ll be very angry about it later. But just now, I’m wondering how we’re going to get back to the TARDIS, when all I want to do is flip up that skirt of yours—”

“Doctor.” She put her hand on his knee to still him. 

He went very still and closed his eyes. “Please don’t,” he said again, this time through clenched teeth, and placed his hand over hers. “Rose…”. He opened his eyes and fixed her with a stare so darkly intent she could swear the noise of the celebration faded away to nothing. 

All she heard was his breathing, her heartbeat. Then she did the only thing she could think to do.

She slid her hand, beneath his, up his leg.

As it inched higher, he let his hand be moved with hers, almost like he was guiding her, daring her, to touch him more intimately. But before she could, he suddenly squeezed her hand, stopping her motion, and then using his hold on her, he pulled her to her feet. 

“We’re leaving.” Whether he was telling her or announcing it to the other guests, she wasn’t sure, but it was loud and forceful enough that several people stopped what they were doing and turned to stare. He plucked the delicate flower from her hair with his other hand and tossed it to the ground. “Come on.”

“But—” Leaving seemed like both the best and worst idea. If they were alone…

“I’ll fix it. We just need to get back to the TARDIS.”

But there was a forest between them and their ship, and he was pulling her toward it, the sounds of the party they left quickly receding as the trees and the dark of night came up all around them. He was muttering to himself, analysing or calculating, she supposed. All she could make out was an occasional _no, that’s not—_ or _yes!_ , and that he was getting increasingly frustrated. At least in his state he still seemed to know exactly where their ship was, because she hadn’t any idea at all.

“If it’s like alcohol,” she asked after a while, “won’t it just wear off?” 

“Before I throw you up against a tree? I don’t know. Which is what I’m debating now, by the way—tree, forest floor, the TARDIS doors, maybe.”

“Oh god.” She groaned. She couldn’t help it. Knowing what he was thinking, that he was imagining fucking her, god he’d said those words… She was partial to the floor idea, because she wasn’t sure how much longer her weakening knees would hold her up. 

She let go his hand and stalked off ahead of him, hoping distance would help clear her head, but she didn’t get far. Because, as if her body had heard her thoughts, she almost immediately stumbled over a root or branch or something on the ground. She was going down, but the Doctor’s strong arm caught her about the waist from behind, just in time so that when their knees hit the dirt together, it was gently, not painfully hard.

He didn’t let her go. Instead his grip tightened. His nose against her neck, he inhaled deeply. “I’ve been trying to analyse the chemicals,” he whispered into her skin, almost but not quite kissing. “But by design, I imagine, my attention won't stay fixed on anything but you.”

She whimpered.

“Rose. I’m sorry, but—” He cleared his throat. “We’d be okay if we just…”

He shifted his hips closer to her. 

Was this happening? Was she on her knees in a wood with the Doctor pressing his hard-on against her through their clothes? Clothes that could so easily be shifted...

His hand around her waist moved up, clutching her ribs and higher. 

“Please,” was all she could say. 

Both his hands came up over her breasts then, teasing her through her thin shirt and bra. When she groaned again, he suddenly let her go and shuffled back, leaving her feeling cold. 

“It isn’t—We can’t—Like this, it’s not—” 

She could _hear_ his hands tugging at his hair. 

She’d never been more sure of anything in her life, her need for him _now_ was quickly becoming almost painful, but she didn’t have the words to tell him how much she wanted him. Didn’t have the words to make him feel better about what _he_ wanted.

“I’ll go,” she said, though she didn’t know if she actually could. She leaned forward, intending to get up, stretching to find purchase on the awkward terrain, but she slipped again, ending up on her elbows and knees. 

“No!” he shouted, and in an instant, he was back against her again, hands on her hips. “Please don’t go,” he said more quietly, and she could feel his breath against her back.

Her body, already on fire for him, responded to the intimacy of their position, and she knew, bent over like this, little was left to his imagination. He was getting a show, and she didn’t care. She wanted to show him every part of her. She wanted everything from him. His hands, his mouth, his—

“Oh, Rose,” he whispered. 

His hands slid down from her hips, along the outside of her thighs, first outside her skirt and then under it; his first touch of his fingers on her bare, sensitive skin making her tremble in anticipation. If he stopped again, she thought she might actually die. His hands trailed back up till his fingers curled around the waistband of her knickers and then he did—he stopped. 

She knew he had to be warring with himself and she ached for his turmoil, but she found it so wholly unnecessary, and just now, a fucking waste of time. 

He was still. Then a ragged breath against her. “Tell me to,” he said, “please.”

“Just... _touch_ me.”

The sound he made was half growl, half groan, but it was his answer. He pulled her knickers down. 

His fingers immediately found her wetness, tracing her flesh, sliding forward to her clit, dipping inside her, and she gasped at the shocks of intense pleasure sparking through her. 

“I need—” she thought she heard him say, and then his face was buried where his fingers had been. His mouth, his tongue sliding over her fast, like he couldn’t decide where to focus and wanted to taste all of her all at once. 

Leaves crunched beneath her grasping fingers as she pawed at the ground; she wanted to turn, to touch him, but no power on earth could move her from her position now. And no matter how much she wanted to kiss him, she needed his tongue right where it was more. If he would just focus it a bit just there, oh she was already so close. But they _both_ needed… didn’t he say…?

“More,” she groaned, or tried to, having trouble forming anything as coherent as words.

But he seemed to get the message because he pulled away, and through her own panting, she heard him fumble with his clothing, half-curse, and then the unmistakable sound of a zip being lowered, quickly. 

She blindly pushed back against him, too eager to wait a second longer. She needed him, _now_. And he was there, his cock nudging against her. “Please,” she begged again.

“Yes,” he muttered, pushing inside her, more gently than she would have thought possible right now.

_Fuck_. It felt amazing. He was silent but for his breath coming in harsh pants, his hands gripping her hips tightly, as if he were afraid to move. But then he did, pulling away and plunging back in and quickly setting a pace of deep thrusts she couldn't hope to keep up with. Overwhelmed by sensation, amazing ticked over into mind blowing immediately. It had been a while, but had it ever felt like this? This good? A distant part of her knew she might later be slightly mortified about the sounds she was making, her very vocal appreciation of the wet slide of his cock inside her. But currently, the only consistent thought she managed to keep in her head as he drove into her, was that it was like he was made for her, and they were made to do _this_. Every stroke felt impossibly better than the last, the tension building unbearably and perfectly and too soon, she was right back at the edge. 

She didn’t want it to end. 

But then he said her name on a groan, and it sounded like he was right there too, and that was it for her. She imploded. Every muscle she had clenched, toes curled, eyes shut so tight her vision went starry, and where he moved within her, the most exquisite sparks of bliss ignited and spread their way through her body.

As she began to calm, through the haze of diminishing sensation, she realized he’d come too. He’d stopped moving, and at some point, his grip on her had loosened, her arms had given way and they’d collapsed together in a boneless heap. 

And for a few brief moments, all was quiet. Just them, catching their breaths, and the sounds of the forest again. She’d nearly forgotten where they were. 

For her, coming usually curbed the intense desire to get fucked, so she didn’t really recognize the exact moment when the drug wore off of her. But she knew it had, and did feel more clear-headed pretty quickly, and all she wanted to do now was roll over and have a cuddle, even here, on the ground.

She felt it the precise moment things shifted for him, though. She understood by now that he’d probably been more… affected than she had. So it made a sort of sense that the wearing off would be different for him too. Because quite suddenly, his whole body tensed above her, and more quickly than she’d ever known a bloke to move after incredible sex, he withdrew and practically jumped off her, scrambling away. 

She did roll over then, and found him sitting, backed up against a nearby tree, doing up his trousers with fumbling fingers. Even in the spotty moonlight through the trees, she could make out the confused guilt on his face. 

She straightened her own clothes as best she could, getting rid of the knickers that were still somehow wrapped around one ankle, and went to sit down next to him. 

“No,” she said, simply.

“What?” 

“Don’t go getting all guilty and hating yourself for this.” 

“I—? What?” he asked again, as if he didn’t understand her words, but she knew he did, that he was just panicking, because he wasn’t sure what was right in this situation. “Rose, but I—”

She stopped him with a hand on his cheek. He just looked bewildered at her calm. So she leaned forward and gently kissed him. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was the right thing to do. He might reject her or push her away; she wasn’t certain about anything just now, but it felt right. She tried to show him without words that she was okay, and that she wanted him, whether or not she was under the spell of an alien love potion. He soon sighed into the kiss, and she felt immediate relief when he responded, kissing her back, deepening it, but keeping it gentle and unhurried. 

“Are we better?” she asked, when they separated after a few moments. “I mean, the effects of the drug, not…” She let the sentence hang, knowing the rest was… complicated. 

He was still for a few seconds. He definitely looked calmer, but she knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. “Near as I can figure right now, yes. I can’t taste any trace of the concoction in you, or sense it in me either. Though we should get back to the TARDIS. Run some tests, make sure there are no more… surprises.” 

“But?” There was something he wasn’t saying. 

He looked at her, his eyes flashing anger, but it wasn’t directed at her. He was conflicted, shaken by what just happened, and probably (just as she was) questioning everything, including his own decisions. 

“You want to go yell at them, don’t you? The Florentians. Tell ‘em how wrong it is to push people towards something they might not… might not otherwise do.” She was angry too. But she didn’t think she could regret opening this door. Or having it flung open for them. If she understood correctly, the drug just didn’t create desire out of nothing. It wasn’t the way she wanted to find out for sure how he felt about her, but she knew now it was real. And the kiss they just shared reaffirmed it as well. That much was all him. 

But the walls he kept up were his to keep, and they had no right to decide for him when they’d get knocked down. 

“Maybe,” he said. “Honestly, maybe. It isn’t right. They took something from us that could have been—. Well it doesn’t matter now what it could have been. But the revellers at that party, they… they likely sign up for it. Know what’s coming. Whereas we were… blindsided. They may not have realized we didn’t know what the celebration entailed. Maybe they didn’t know we weren’t already… together. And who am I to judge their customs?”

“You’re the Doctor. You judge people all the time. And you make them better.”

He smiled at her then, just a little smile, not a huge grin, but she thought that maybe it meant they’d be okay, in the end. She found his hand and twined their fingers together. 

“But it doesn’t have to be right this second,” she said. “We can check things out on the TARDIS. Regroup, yeah?” She knew she could use a shower and some clean knickers, and that they should both make sure their heads were on straight before they turned their fury on some celebrating aliens. “Let’s go home, Doctor.”

He nodded, and got to his feet, helping her up by their joined hands, instead of pulling her along this time. 

They weren’t walking along the path for even half a minute before it opened to a small clearing she remembered from earlier. And there home was, a few feet away, in all her blue and white glory. The TARDIS had been right here the whole time. 

She stopped then, her mouth agape. They’d almost made it back before they’d rutted on the ground like animals. 

“What?” he asked, clearly anxious to get to their ship. 

“You mean we could have shagged in a bed?”

“Well,” he said, sounding more like himself that he had all evening. But then he let go of her hand and did that thing he did, ruffling his hair at the back when he got a bit anxious. “We still can, if you want. Later.”

_Did he just…?_ “Yeah?” Her heart felt like it would burst with hope. But she also needed to be sure he meant it. 

“Yeah. If you want,” he repeated, before he unlocked the door to the TARDIS and continued talking as they walked in. “I suppose there isn’t much point in pretending **I** don’t want to anymore, is there? You’ve got my secrets now, Rose. Well, more of them. Only, you never really said if—”

“I didn’t know if I was affected at first because your hair looked so distractingly good, and I’m always thinking about it,” she blurted out. “Not your hair, but like literally almost always thinking about you and me, shagging.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. 

“I’m okay. I’m not under the influence now. I just thought you should know. Should we get on with checking if was anything else in that shag-potion…?” She walked out of the control room in the direction of the infirmary. 

Just outside the room, he caught her hand again, and spun her back toward him. He steadied her just before she would have crashed into his chest. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“What for?”

“For understanding. For not being angry. For… well, I suppose, for wanting me?”

He seemed so surprised. 

“You’re an idiot,” she said, and his brows drew together for a moment in confusion. “For thinking I’d blame you. That I haven’t always—always wanted you.” She’d very nearly said something else. Something he certainly must already know. 

“Neither of us said what we wanted,” he allowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Shush,” she said, probably a little too harshly. But she was so tired of hearing him apologize for what wasn’t his fault. “And let’s get us tested, make sure we’re not poisoned, so we can move on.”

“To? Dealing with the Florentians? Rose, I’m still not sure if—”

“Yeah. And to: I want to fuck you with a clear head.”

“Oh.”

“And clear conscience. For both of us. All right?”

“Yes,” he said. “Quite.”

 

FIN


End file.
